“But since the lock was opened, how was the explosion produced?”
“It was when the lid was raised that the explosion happened. Did the box overturn? It was a very heavy one. Was there some special manner of placing it, when removing the lid, to prevent a prime of fulminate going off? Was it clock-work, arranged in a certain manner? All is mere conjecture. What is certain enough is that, in a second, box, formulæ, powders, house, Hans’ arm, and all our hopes disappeared at the same time. Our friend must have shown extraordinary energy not to have been surprised by all the people who came running up from all directions. You may believe me when I say that, so long as I was not assured that he was out of danger, I felt very anxious.”
“Ah, you are an intelligent woman, Sophia—really clever and brave! Now we must make amends for a preliminary defeat, and nonplus this young booby of a Marcel.”
“Just leave the matter to me. He seemed a very nice young fellow.”
“You are right; but don’t go and fall in love with him, whatever you do.”
She burst into a laugh.
“I have other things to attend to. Besides, Cesare, is it so easy to find a rival to yourself?”
The handsome Italian shook his head.
“You are so strange, Sophia, whatever is difficult is the very thing to tempt you.”
“A scene of jealousy between you and me, Cesare!” said Sophia, ironically. “Do we not know one another well enough to beblasésas regards our mutual qualities and failings? Shall I be jealous, the day I have married you to Lichtenbach’s wealthy daughter? Just close your eyes, and leave me free to act. Besides, if you acted otherwise, that would be all of no use. You are well aware that I have never done anything that did not please me, even with personages far more redoubtable than yourself.”
“Come, come, Sophia, do not get excited! If I do not stop you, you will be threatening me in a minute. Ah, you have a will of iron!”
“Yes; and just now it is my will to completely subjugate this young Baradier.”
“Poor fellow, you will succeed only too easily!”
“Ah! Now you are going to pity him, are you?”
They both laughed outright. Then the young woman asked—
“Have you visited the dwelling?”
“Yes. I have also obtained an entrance into the laboratory without the slightest effort.”
“Did you see anything special?”
“A number of spiders’ webs, several broken phials, and tubs of various colours, in which pieces of cloth were soaking.”
“Nothing resembling the powders we are in search of?”
“Nothing whatever. I must say that, in one of the rooms of the summer-house, the young man charitably warned me that if I touched a single one of the flagons lying on the table some catastrophe might result. Accordingly, it is there he manipulates his products, or, at any rate, conceals them. In the next room there is nothing suspicious. He said to me: ‘Here you may smoke, if you like, and that without the slightest danger.’”
“That is worth knowing.”
“Do you think of going to see him?”
“I think of nothing and of everything. Does one ever know what means will have to be employed in the performance of anything? Wisdom consists in preparing several, so as not to be caught unexpectedly. I have undertaken to obtain possession of and hand over the formulæ of the General de Trémont. For me, it is a matter of self-respect, as well as a question of interest. I will not admit that I cannot succeed in anything I undertake. Our friends abroad would consider me as having depreciated in ability if I failed, and you know what their support is worth to me. So long as my influence lasts, the Baron Grodsko will remain aloof, and not trouble about me. If my protection were to cease to-morrow, Heaven knows what sort of account I should have to give him!”
Cesare looked at the young woman in surprise.
“Ah! You are almost overcome with emotion. Are you afraid of him?”
Sophia became serious.
“I am afraid of no one in the world, as you know. Still, Grodsko is a terrible man, especially when he is not drunk.”
“But then he is always drinking. Is it because he likes drink?”
“No! It is to forget,”
“Forget what? You?”
“Perhaps.”
“He was passionately fond of you, I suppose?”
“So were all the other men.”
“Is it long since you saw him?”
“Some years.”
“And he is still at Monte Carlo?”
“In the winter. During the summer he lives at Vienna.”
“And he drinks both at Monte Carlo and in Vienna?”
“Yes, and gambles as well. He has a way of drinking which leaves his brain perfectly clear, so that he is able to play.”
“Does he win?”
“Often. But then, what does that matter to him?”
“Then he is so rich that he is indifferent to his winnings? Lucky man!”
“Grodsko is proprietor of a whole district in Moravia. He owns forests, mountains, and villages. His forests furnish the finest pines in Europe. The mountains are bored through and through with mines from which copper and tin are extracted. As for villages, Grodsko, with the peasants on his domains, could, in case of war, furnish a couple of regiments.”
“And you left this nabob?”
“Yes, for a young man, who had nothing but his beauty to recommend him.”
“What did Grodsko say to that?”
“He said nothing, he set out in our pursuit, overtook us, and killed my companion.”
“Whilst you?”
“I had reached the frontier when Grodsko came up to me.”
“And there followed—”
“An explanation, in the course of which, as he dared to raise his hand against me, I planted in his arm one of the knives lying on the table, on which I had just finished lunch.”
“What exquisite relations you had with one another! And did that satisfy him?”
“No. He bound me with cords and took me back to Vienna in his carriage. There I succeeded in escaping from him, thanks to certain irresistible influences. It cost me very dear to regain my liberty. Still, from that day I had no longer anything to fear, and could travel all over the world as I pleased.”
“What was the name of the great personage who rendered you this service?”
Sophia looked at the handsome Italian mockingly; she clacked her fingers as though they were castanets, and replied—
“If any one asks you, you will say you know nothing about it?”
“Then you have no confidence in me, Sophia?”
“I have confidence in no one, scarcely in myself. Acknowledge that I am frank with you. I might tell you all kinds of tales—that it was the minister of police, or an archduke, or a foreign ambassador, or all three combined, who set me free. Be assured, all the same, that I have contracted obligations towards those who served me, and whom I am serving in my turn.”
“Whatever obligations you are under to them, they have done a very good stroke of business in obtaining such an ally as yourself. Is there another so good in the whole world? You have the genius of corruption, and I do not think there is a conscience anywhere strong enough to resist you. If seductive charm is needed, you will succeedin everything you undertake. Ah, your power is indeed very great and terrible!”
Sophia smiled bitterly, she raised her head, and her countenance assumed a threatening expression.
“All my power consists in my scorn of humanity. I believe men are capable of everything. The sole question is to find the way to make them act. I have seen men, though heroes in the face of death, turn pale and trembling at the idea of being deprived of their pleasures. The most rigid from the point of view of honour, brought into contact with poverty, become accessible to the basest compromises. To turn an honest man into a thief, all that is needed is a woman’s smile. To make the mildest of men shed the blood of another, you need simply arouse his jealousy. These poor wretches who people the earth act, and are unconscious of the influence inspiring them. Men are like puppets, the strings of which are held by firm, audacious hands, whilst they accomplish the most sublime or the most infamous actions at will. And all this, merely through some favourable or perverse influence, a string pulled on one side or the other. And man, irresponsible agent of a destiny he is unable to modify, is treated as a hero or a brigand, carried aloft in triumph or flung into the gutter.”
“But virtue, Sophia, the love of right?”
“Mere accidents, my friend. Do not make them into general rules. The majority of people are virtuous because they have never had the opportunity of being rascals. But have no doubt that they would have been, and very successful ones, with the greatest ease. The human soul, Cesare, is a ground ready prepared for vice and crime. It is simply a question of what seed you intend to sow there. Very well! I am a sower, as you have said. I excel in growing the fruit of corruption. Young Marcel Baradier is now going to be my experiment field.”
“Great good may it do him!”
“Had he been content with the profession of a banker, or the business of a cotton manufacturer, nothing of what is now being prepared would have happened; he would have lived a happy, quiet life. But he has dabbled in chemistry, and that has spoiled everything.”
The sun had sunk behind the hill, and the small room was quite dark. Sophia and Cesare could no longer distinguish one another. At last the young woman arose from her seat, and said—
“Come, we have had sufficient philosophy. What does all that prove? They are nothing but mere words. Fortune does not come to those who speak, but to those who act.”
AfterBaudoin had been a fortnight at the works, he was astonished to find that Marcel had passed from a state of perfect calm to one of extreme agitation. The young man, who spent the greater part of his time in the summer-house, either working or indulging in day-dreams, had suddenly begun to leave the laboratory after lunch, and did not return before night set in. A more significant fact was that Marcel’s appearance had changed as well as his habits. Instead of a country costume—soft felt hat and heavy shoes—a quiet, refined elegance now characterized him. The expression of his countenance, too, was far different from the one he had assumed previously; his eyes shone more brightly, even his voice sounded more vibrating. Baudoin thought, “There is a woman at the bottom of all this.”
He had had experience when with the General de Trémont, and was well acquainted with that tension of the nerves which enters into the slightest movements. He knew the meaning of that satisfied little humming and that firm step on the floor, of conquering though feverish sound. There was a woman at the bottom of it, without the slightest doubt. Baudoin felt anxious. In that quiet country district, how had his master found the opportunity of falling into a passion? He instituted a discreet inquiry.
He had made the acquaintance of the landlord of the Golden Lion, the principal hotel of Ars, a former cook,who had served in the Army, and proudly wore at his buttonhole, on Sundays, a blue and yellow ribbon, brought from Tonkin. Whilst drinking a bitter, Baudoin chatted with him, and listened to all the local gossip he retailed. He questioned him: Were there any strangers in the district? Did his hotel contain any fresh arrivals? Had any fair ladies been seen lately in the town?
All these questions received categoric replies. No one staying with him or anywhere in Ars could be suspected by any stretch of imagination of having disturbed Marcel’s peace of mind. The only thing to do was to make inquiries in the outskirts.
“A young gentleman and a young lady,” said the landlord, “are staying at the Villa de la Cavée. But they are in mourning, and never visit the town, but live in very retired fashion. They have hired carriages on three occasions, for driving in the environs. The young lady has never shown herself at Ars, and I could not say whether she is pretty or ugly. My coachman, who drove them, said that they look very sad, and speak very politely to one another. He thinks they are brother and sister. At any rate, they are not French.”
Baudoin could obtain nothing more. This, however, was quite sufficient, and he determined to secretly watch his master, to try to find out the object of his walks. The fact that the young Jady was very sorrowful and in mourning seemed no reason to him why his master should not fall in love with her. On the contrary; besides, he had an instinctive distrust of foreigners who passed as brother and sister.
The following day, his friend of the Golden Lion said to him—
“I have some news for you regarding the people at the villa. The young man left this morning. He was driven to the railway, and is going to Paris; his luggage wasregistered by the coachman. The young lady is now alone.”
That evening Baudoin noticed that his master returned home later than usual, and on the coat he flung off he discovered small pieces of moss, as though Marcel had been seated in the woods. The following day, about two o’clock, the young man went out as usual. Baudoin, who had made arrangements to keep a watch on him, starting out before him, waited for him at the bottom of the Cavée, to make certain that he had proceeded in that direction. Seated under the arbour of an inn, close to the town, he did not lose sight of the Ars road, which mounts towards the woods of Bossicant. After waiting half an hour, he saw Marcel, wearing a grey suit, and with a new straw hat on his head, come along, at a brisk pace, his stick under his arm, and his face lit up with pleasure.
“Ah, my friend,” said Baudoin to himself, “you are on the way to meet your lady-love! You would not be stepping out at such a brisk pace were your mission merely to gather herbs on the hills.”
He allowed the young man to go on ahead, then he followed him with infinite precautions. Marcel was, indeed, going in the direction of the villa. Since he had been introduced to Madame Vignola, the whole tenor of his life had changed. He no longer thought either of chemistry, of the works, or even of his family. There was nothing in the world for him except the ravishing Italian. Could his uncle Graff have seen him, he would have said, “Ah, caught again! He has lost his head and his heart once more!” The fact was, he well knew that feverish state, which rendered Marcel incapable of thinking of anything else than his inamorata, and capable of the greatest acts of madness in the pursuit.
But the special sign of love with this inflammable youngfellow was the reasoning rigour with which he pursued the conquest of the loved one. He was an engineer and a mathematician even in his passion, neglecting nothing, and profiting by everything to advance his cause, and the court he paid was a veritable siege.
Madame Vignola had only needed half a day, spent with Marcel, in her brother’s presence, to obtain sole possession of the young man’s mind. She had shown herself so charming and modest, and so cajoling, and chaste, that Cesare, who was, all the same, well aware what this remarkable actress was capable of, was quite stupefied at the result. The art of deception reaching such a stage of perfection became real genius. In dilettante fashion the handsome Italian had followed the progressive phases of his pretended sister’s manoeuvring. The two hours Marcel had passed at the villa had sped away like a flash of lightning. And the young swain, already love-smitten, had been obliged to retire, when he thought he had only been there a few moments.
True, Madame Vignola, at her brother’s request, had seated herself at the piano, and, with penetrating and expressive tones, had sung a few Dalmatian airs in true artistic style. Marcel, an excellent musician himself, had accompanied the young woman, and afterwards offered some musical scores he kept at Ars as a distraction for the solitary evenings he often spent there. At his earnest request, Cesare had postponed his departure, and the following afternoon had been spent in the woods of Bossicant wandering along the narrow alleys, breathing the keen fresh air of the plain, and chatting in friendly fashion. That evening Cesare had pointed with a smile to his sister’s animated and healthy looking countenance, saying to Marcel—
“You see what good it does her to have change and distraction. You would scarcely take her to be the same person. Ah! If only she could forget her grief every dayin the same way, her usual health and good spirits would quickly come back.”
“Then stay on; why should you go away?” asked Marcel.
“Ah! It is not I who can give her the distraction she needs,” said the handsome Italian, heedlessly.
A moment later he appeared to regret having spoken so frankly.
“It is much easier for strangers, you see, than for intimates to obtain a fortunate change in the dispositions of people who suffer.”
“But your sister is not suffering! Look with what an alert and supple step she is walking there, in front of us.”
“Yes; but just now her nerves sustain her. This very night she will relapse into a feeling of melancholy, and be completely prostrated. I shall not be able to draw a single word from her.”
“If you would authorize me to call and see her, and she also would permit me, I should find great pleasure in her company.”
The Italian grasped Marcel effusively by the hand.
“I do not know how to thank you for your kindness. But it would be expecting too much from you. Poor Anetta would quickly tire out your patience. She is a capricious child. You do not know her yet.”
They had no opportunity to continue, for Madame Vignola turned towards them a questioning look, which asked—
“What are you two plotting there?”
“Count Cesare, madame, is handing over to me his authority over you during his absence,” said Marcel, gaily. “He is making me responsible for your state of mind. Accordingly, from to-morrow, I am in charge of your goodor bad temper. But you must be willing to put up with my tyranny.”
Her countenance became grave; in low but fascinating tones she said—
“Yes, he is right. You must not leave me. When I am alone all kinds of gloomy thoughts come into my head. Be a friend to me. Cesare will not be long away, and then we will resume our walks in the woods. Until then, call for me at the villa; you will always be welcome.”
Count Agostini had left, and Marcel, by invitation, was now calling at the Cavée. The nearer he drew the faster became his pace, and his temples were quite flushed. On reaching the villa he suddenly slackened his steps, for he had heard Madame Vignola’s voice. She was alone in the salon, the windows were open, and the passionate melody, in which both art and sentiment were wonderfully blended, had filled Marcel’s soul with a keen jealousy. It was the “Gipsies’ Cantilena,” by Marackzy, the great Hungarian artist, who died of grief when in full possession of his genius and glory—
“Viens sur ma levre parfumée,Rose fremissante et pamée,Trempée encore des pleurs d’amour,Cueillir le baiser, dont la flammeFera de mon cœur a ton âmeJaillir. . . . ”
“Viens sur ma levre parfumée,Rose fremissante et pamée,Trempée encore des pleurs d’amour,Cueillir le baiser, dont la flammeFera de mon cœur a ton âmeJaillir. . . . ”
The song stopped suddenly, as though the voice were broken by sobs. It seemed to Marcel that the singer’s very heart had broken under the influence of some mysterious grief. Unable to contain himself, he rushed through the garden, and reached the salon. Madame Vignola was still seated at the piano. She was weeping bitterly, her beautiful pale face leaning on her hand. At the sight Marcel gave a cry of pain, which made the young woman suddenly lookup. Holding out her hand to Marcel, apparently ashamed at being thus surprised, she said—
“Pardon me. I ought never to sing when I am alone. These harmonious strains agitate me, and recall to my mind souvenirs that are too painful.”
“Mon Dieu! What is the matter? Have confidence in me.”
“No, no! Do not ask me.”
Closing the piano, and summoning a smile to her face, she said—
“Let us talk about you, not about me.”
She looked at Marcel, and said, in tones of affectionate reproof—
“How warm you are! You have been walking too fast, and the hill is so steep! It will be my turn to scold if you do not act sensibly. Now come out into the garden.”
He quietly followed her. They walked along the small alleys of the tiny garden, then seated themselves under the shade of the blossoming lilacs, where they entered into a chat, talking of everything except of what they really thought.
On the road, Baudoin had not lost sight of his master. When Marcel had entered the villa the servant had approached with considerable precaution. Madame Vignola’s singing had stopped as soon as Marcel appeared, so that Baudoin had heard nothing. He took good care not to pass in front of the door, but followed a footpath along the wall which continued in the direction of the wood, along a high copse crowned with large trees. On reaching the thicket he climbed the slope, and, concealed behind a bush, was able to catch a glimpse of the garden. The lilacs, under which Anetta and Marcel were chatting, grew at the foot of the mound which Baudoin had chosen as his observatory. Therethey were, seated with their backs towards him, about thirty yards away.
Baudoin reflected. Who can this woman dressed in black be? She looks young, and of very good figure. Marcel loses no time once he sets out on a campaign. But perhaps all preliminaries have been facilitated for him? What is this young stranger doing here, and what interest is it of hers to place herself in immediate communication with M. Marcel? What are they speaking of, there, under my very eyes? Certainly it cannot be business. Then love must be the bait at the end of the line. The hook is well concealed, and will appear at the right moment.
During this monologue the two friends continued their conversation. They sat there, near one another, but the sound of their words did not reach Baudoin. At the end of an hour they stood upright, and the young woman turned round so as to face Baudoin.Heexamined her with astonishment and admiration, for seldom had he seen a more beautiful face. He was obliged to acknowledge that he had never seen her hitherto. After all, what resemblance had he expected? The “other” woman, the one of Vanves, he had seen only in the shadow of night, and so as to render it impossible to recognize her again. The only clues he possessed were that characteristic favourite perfume of hers, and the sound of her voice, which still vibrated in his ears.
He thought, “If I could only hear her speak! A single sentence would be sufficient to enable me to recognize her.” His heart leaped with joy, for the couple were now slowly walking along the circular alley which passed close to the foot of the mound not a dozen steps from where Baudoin was concealed. They were speaking to one another without the slightest suspicion that any one was listening. The former soldier, like a hunter on the watch, who sees hislong-expected quarry approach, with beating heart and slightly dimmed eyes, listened with all the attention he was capable of. He heard Marcel say—
“Now that you are free, do you intend to take up these former plans of yours?”
And the woman, in caressing tones, but with an Italian accent, replied—
“What is the use? I am now quite old. I am twenty-seven years of age. Artistic triumphs would have no value for me now. Sing in a theatre, in public;—be the object of everybody’s gaze? Oh no. I no longer think of such a thing.”
“And yet you would obtain a great success!”
“For whom?”
They passed by, and Baudoin was obliged to confess to himself that this woman in mourning had not the same voice as the “other,” the one who had brought death with her. He saw the two promenaders disappear into the house, then he heard the clear tones of the piano, and the pure vibrating voice of the young woman arose, filling the silence of the woods with its melodious accents. Thereupon Baudoin descended the mound, and returned to Ars preoccupied and reflective. As he passed in front of the post-office he entered and wrote the following despatch:—
“Laforêt, War Office, rue Saint Dominique, Paris. Come to Ars, near Troyes. Ask for me at works. Baudoin.”
After paying he watched the transmission of his telegram, and, slightly relieved, returned home. At seven o’clock Marcel arrived. He dined without uttering a single word, and immediately afterwards retired into the laboratory, where Baudoin heard him pacing to and fro, far into the night.
Meanwhile Madame Vignola, seated in her small salon,an Oriental cigarette between her lips, was cutting a pack of cards under the complaisant looks of her chambermaid. The latter, a confidential companion rather than a servant, was a small, dark-complexioned woman, whom Sophia had had with her for the last ten years. Her name was Milona, but she was always called Milo. She had been born in the Carpathians, in the midst of a gipsy encampment. Her mother had died by the side of a ditch, leaving her, at the age of twelve, quite alone, and exposed to the attentions of a villain of the band, who had been smitten with the precocious grace of the child.
Sophia, as she passed through Trieste, in the course of her adventurous life, had been present, in the court of the inn where she had put up, at a quarrel between Milona and her ferocious suitor. The little one boldly opposed the zingaro, who wished to compel her to follow him, and to his loud-voiced threats uttered in the Romany tongue, she replied by a determined denial and a flashing look of defiance. The whole band, the only relations Milona knew, supported the young bandit’s pretensions. But Milona continued her refusal, when the chief of the band, an old man with grey beard and white curly hair, a regular patriarch, whose chief business was to steal poultry from the villages they traversed, tried to reason with the young girl.
Sophia, with her elbows resting on the window-sill, was enjoying the sight, and a feeling of sympathy came over her for this proud child who would not submit to the man’s tyranny. She appeared to understand the language these gipsies spoke, and smiled at the highly-coloured expressions of their speech.
“Milona,” said the venerable poultry-thief, “you are not acting aright. You refuse Zambo, who belongs to the tribe, and loves you well, because you have been listening to this little Hungarian hussar who has lately been makinglove to you. And yet you are well aware that he is a dog, an enemy of our race, who will soon tire of you, and leave you all alone. It was to me your mother left you when she died. I have paid for your training and food, taught you to tell fortunes, and all about chieromancy and the composition of love philtres. Will you be ungrateful and refuse to be the wife of my little nephew Zambo?”
“I do not love him,” said the girl, dryly.
“But he loves you.”
“That does not matter to me.”
“But if you resist him, he will kill you.”
“That is my business!”
“Do you intend to leave us, then?”
“Yes. I am tired of living on robbery, and being clothed in rags!”
“Then pay for your freedom.”
“I have no money. Wait, and some day the hussar will give me my hands full of money.”
At these words, Zambo gave a terrible imprecation, and leapt towards the child with the words—
“That is the last word you shall ever speak!”
And, brandishing a long dagger, he threw himself on Milona. At that critical moment the Baroness Sophia gave a shrill, whistling sound, which drew the attention of the whole band, and speaking in their own tongue, she said—
“That is quite enough. I intend to send for the police. You, old man, would you like to sell the girl?”
“Yes, your ladyship.”
“How much?”
“Twenty golden ducats.”
“You thief!”
“I cannot take less, your Excellency!”
A purse fell into the courtyard at the patriarch’s feet.He picked it up with the rapidity of a juggler, counted the money, and, after bowing to the Baroness, said to Milona—
“Thank your noble benefactress. She has paid; you are free!”
“Come up here, little one,” said Sophia.
Immediately Milona, followed by the imprecations of her disconcerted lover, flew into the inn. The window of the Baroness was closed, and the gipsies, with vehement words and exaggerated gestures, tried to give Zambo to understand that girls were far less rare than ducats, and that, though his love remained to him on account, the till of the troupe would be filled for a whole year. Ever since this strange introduction, Milona had become attached, with a wild and savage affection, to her deliverer. She had served her indefatigably, and, with the exception of those terrible secrets which Sophia entrusted to no one, she knew the life-story of her mistress.
Sophia exhaled a puff of blue smoke, and hesitated before the combination of her cards—
“King of hearts, nine of spades, and knave of clubs,” said Milona, calmly, her finger pointing to the spotted cards. “And then, queen of clubs, knave of hearts, and seven of spades. Still the same reply. You will not succeed!”
Sophia raised her bold though beautiful eyes up to her companion, and, in her ordinary accents, which were different from those in which she spoke Italian, said—
“I must succeed, I tell you, I must, Milona: do you hear?”
“Shall we try the water test?”
“Yes, we have not tried it for some considerable time.” Milona took a crystal cup filled with flowers. She threw the bouquet on to the floor, and after extinguishing thewax candles in the chandelier, with one single exception, placed the cup on the table in such a way that the light might fall upon it from behind. Then, drawing out one of the long gold pins which fastened her hair, she crouched down on a stool, dipped the metal stem into the vase, and commenced a strange chant. In the water, through which the light penetrated, irisated eddies formed, and the two women attentively watched the broken fugitive lines, the tiny drops sparkling like diamonds, and the brilliant spirals of the water stirred to motion by the gold needle. Milona sang—
“Water is nought but trouble and mystery, light is certainty and truth. Let the light penetrate the water, and cause its secrets to be revealed. Turn, needle; shine, ray; water, divide.”
“Look, Milo, look!” exclaimed Sophia, excitedly. “The water is turning red, it seems to be turning into blood!”
Milona continued her chant—
“Blood is strength and life. The blood of the brain is victory. The blood of the heart is love. Turn, needle; redden, blood. Grant us victory and love!”
Sophia, on her knees by the side of the table, was anxiously watching with ardent eyes the crystal vase in which the water was whirling round under the impulse given to it by the gold needle.
“Look! Look again!” she exclaimed. “The water is turning green! It is shining like an emerald!”
“The emerald is the colour of hope, and hope is the joy of life. Turn, needle; water, become glaucous, like the eyes of the sirens, whom a man follows to his death!”
Milona withdrew the gold needle. The water, again restored to a state of calm, after having ceased turning around the sides of the crystal vase, first assumed a greyish tint, then turned to a dark colour.
“Milo,” exclaimed Sophia, in dismay, “the water is black! It is a sign of mourning! Who is to die?”
The servant, without replying, relit the candles, took the crystal vase and threw out of the window the water which had just been used for the experiment; then, in anger, she spat out into the night—
“May he die who opposes you!” she said fiercely. “Fate announces love, happiness, and death. You have the privilege of not continuing the enterprise you have begun. The spotted cards say you will not succeed. The water predicts death! For whom? That we cannot learn. Stop, there is still time.”
Sophia walked silently to and fro in the salon, then halted in front of Milona, who sat there, in pensive calm.
“Do you believe in these predictions of yours?”
“I do.”
Sophia lit a cigarette.
“What is the use of being superior in thought and courage, of a bold audacity that recognizes no obstacle, if one acts with the weak cowardice of an ordinary mortal? It is only in whatever is difficult, if not impossible, Milo, that there is any interest. How can one live like a common citizen when one possesses the soul of a sovereign of mankind? No! Cost what it may, one must follow one’s instinct, give evidence of one’s will. You know me, Milo; you know that I give way before no obstacle, once my resolution is taken. Why did you say to me just now, ‘Renounce what you are undertaking; there is still time?’”
“And you,” said Milona, gravely, “since you are so firm in your plans, why do you consult cards, and ask the water to lay bare to you its secret?”
Sophia smiled.
“What you say is just. But, after all, little one, mortals are only human; that is to say, beings accessible to fearand superstition. Don’t you know that doctors—who, after all, are well aware how precarious and powerless is their art—call other doctors to their bedsides when they are ill? A concession to human frailty, Milo. Still, people do not think any the worse of them.”
“And is all this in honour of the young man who has been coming here every day since the Agostini first brought him?”
“The Agostini, as you disrespectfully call him, brought me this young man because I ordered him to do so. Do you not know that he obeys me without discussion?”
“Oh, he will never discuss. But, some day or other, he may no longer obey.”
“Poor Cesare is no favourite of yours,” said Sophia, gaily.
“He is false, and a coward as well. If ever he tries to strike you, it will be in the back.”
“But he loves me.”
“And do you return his affection?”
“Perhaps; though I am not very sure of it. Why do you call him a coward? You are well aware that he fought a duel at Palermo with the Marquis Belverani.”
“Because he knew he was the stronger or the more skilful, and the other had struck him in the presence of fifty people at the club, after accusing him of having cheated at cards. And it was quite true; he did cheat!”
“No one will ever say so again, now that he has killed a man for that very reason! Besides, the proof that he does not cheat is that he always loses.”
“You know something about it?”
“Ah, what should I do with my money if I did not give it to him?”
“You are right. Money is vile; it should serve no other purpose than to satisfy one’s caprices. Its only valueis in the pleasures it procures; in itself it is worth no more than the pebbles lying at one’s feet. Will the young man who comes now give it you or receive it from you?”
“I do not think he would accept it, Milo,” said Sophia, laughing. “You are a regular barbarian, and incapable of understanding anything beyond bribery. There are honest people on earth, little one, and they cannot be paid for obtaining from them what one wishes. Other seductive means must be employed.”
“Ah, that is why you sing when he is here! You will make him mad, like all the others. And yet he looks so gentle and charming!”
“That is true, but he is our enemy, Milo; and if he were to discover who I am, and what I wish to obtain from him, I should run the most terrible danger.”
“So the Agostini has brought him here to ruin him?”
“In a way.”
“And he already loves you? Ah, your power over men is irresistible. Take care, however, or some fine day you will be caught in your turn. Then it will be terrible for you!”
“I have loved, as you well know. Love has nothing new to teach me.”
“Your heart has never been touched, for all those you have loved have been your victims. Sincere and pure love is no assassin. It is a protection and self-sacrifice. Up to the present, however, you have had to deal with none but fortune-hunters, and it was pure justice to treat them as they had been in the habit of treating their own victims. The day you show the Agostini to the door, you may summon me to open it for him. I will do it most gladly!”
“That day has not come yet.”
“What a pity!”
Sophia gave a weary toss of the head, and Milona understood that she must cease this light jesting tone. She said—
“I am going to close all the shutters, mistress, do you need me any longer?”
“No, I am going to write. You will hear me when I retire to rest.”
Seating herself in front of the table, she took an elegant blotting-pad and began to trace, on perfumed paper, in a large masculine hand, the following lines:—
“My dear Cesare,“Since you left me, I have not been wasting my time, nor have you, I imagine, been inactive. Let me know how your Lichtenbach affair is progressing. Here everything is going along smoothly. Our young Marcel came to-day, overflowing with enthusiasm, and surprised me singing the most plaintive songs imaginable. Milona, who was on the look-out for him, had signalled to me his approach, and I played therôleof despair with extraordinary success. He seemed frantic with grief at seeing my tears flow. You know that I can weep at will, and that in the most seductive fashion. I led him away into the garden, and there, made him talk about himself. He is a regular child, of most disconcerting simplicity, and so frank and open that you would smile. To tell the truth, there will be no merit in triumphing over such innocence. This lamb will hold out his neck to the sacrificial knife. And we shall have our formula willingly handed over, or I am greatly mistaken. Besides, I am enjoying a delightful rest in this abandoned spot, and never suffer fromennui, even for a single moment. In the midst of such an adventurous life, it is long since I had time for reflection, and now I am astonished at the result. The joys andpleasures for which I have sacrificed everything hitherto, form, I am afraid, only one of the phases of life. There is another I did not suspect, far more seductive and beautiful. This afternoon, as I was listening to young Marcel speaking to me of his father, his mother, and sister, with such tender and delicate affection, a feeling of sadness came over me. These are all good, honest people. They are happy in a mutual love, and would be ready to undergo the greatest sacrifices for one another. And, although nothing could be simpler, more upright and monotonous than their existence, it cannot be disputed that they find happiness in it.“It is this lamb of a Marcel, who is the scapegrace of the family. From time to time his father threatens him with his malediction, and the poor fellow is very repentant for a whole week. He comes and buries himself at Ars, like an anchorite in the desert. During his penance he works in the laboratory, eats the most ill-cooked food imaginable, and has quarrels with the manager of the works, who seems to be a disagreeable fellow to deal with. It is during these periods of repentance that the interesting discoveries on the dyeing of wools and other industrial stuffs—which, it appears, have a certain value, as he explains to me in rather too much detail for my liking—have been due.“But, after all, he is a very fine fellow. He actually asked me how old I was! He does not imagine that I am older than himself, and I should not be astonished in the slightest, if he were to cherish the idea of marrying me. I lead him by a thread—he neither feels nor sees—on towards absolute slavery. Then, after he has delivered up to me his secret, as all the rest have done, I shall disappear. Once the mourning weeds of Mme. Vignola flung aside, I shall again become the Baroness Sophia, in which character I challenge my lover to recognize the plaintive sorrowfulwidow he is paying court to just now. So, you see, I am not neglecting business matters. I hope you are doing the same on your side. The little Lichtenbach heiress will be a multi-millionaire; that is well worth the trouble of whispering words of love into her ear.“A thousand kisses, Cesare.Sempre t’amero.“Sophia.”
“My dear Cesare,
“Since you left me, I have not been wasting my time, nor have you, I imagine, been inactive. Let me know how your Lichtenbach affair is progressing. Here everything is going along smoothly. Our young Marcel came to-day, overflowing with enthusiasm, and surprised me singing the most plaintive songs imaginable. Milona, who was on the look-out for him, had signalled to me his approach, and I played therôleof despair with extraordinary success. He seemed frantic with grief at seeing my tears flow. You know that I can weep at will, and that in the most seductive fashion. I led him away into the garden, and there, made him talk about himself. He is a regular child, of most disconcerting simplicity, and so frank and open that you would smile. To tell the truth, there will be no merit in triumphing over such innocence. This lamb will hold out his neck to the sacrificial knife. And we shall have our formula willingly handed over, or I am greatly mistaken. Besides, I am enjoying a delightful rest in this abandoned spot, and never suffer fromennui, even for a single moment. In the midst of such an adventurous life, it is long since I had time for reflection, and now I am astonished at the result. The joys andpleasures for which I have sacrificed everything hitherto, form, I am afraid, only one of the phases of life. There is another I did not suspect, far more seductive and beautiful. This afternoon, as I was listening to young Marcel speaking to me of his father, his mother, and sister, with such tender and delicate affection, a feeling of sadness came over me. These are all good, honest people. They are happy in a mutual love, and would be ready to undergo the greatest sacrifices for one another. And, although nothing could be simpler, more upright and monotonous than their existence, it cannot be disputed that they find happiness in it.
“It is this lamb of a Marcel, who is the scapegrace of the family. From time to time his father threatens him with his malediction, and the poor fellow is very repentant for a whole week. He comes and buries himself at Ars, like an anchorite in the desert. During his penance he works in the laboratory, eats the most ill-cooked food imaginable, and has quarrels with the manager of the works, who seems to be a disagreeable fellow to deal with. It is during these periods of repentance that the interesting discoveries on the dyeing of wools and other industrial stuffs—which, it appears, have a certain value, as he explains to me in rather too much detail for my liking—have been due.
“But, after all, he is a very fine fellow. He actually asked me how old I was! He does not imagine that I am older than himself, and I should not be astonished in the slightest, if he were to cherish the idea of marrying me. I lead him by a thread—he neither feels nor sees—on towards absolute slavery. Then, after he has delivered up to me his secret, as all the rest have done, I shall disappear. Once the mourning weeds of Mme. Vignola flung aside, I shall again become the Baroness Sophia, in which character I challenge my lover to recognize the plaintive sorrowfulwidow he is paying court to just now. So, you see, I am not neglecting business matters. I hope you are doing the same on your side. The little Lichtenbach heiress will be a multi-millionaire; that is well worth the trouble of whispering words of love into her ear.
“A thousand kisses, Cesare.Sempre t’amero.
“Sophia.”
She sealed the letter, took up a cigarette, and was preparing to retire to rest, when three slight taps on the shutters sent a shudder through her veins. She listened, an anxious frown on her face, and, after a moment’s interval, the taps were repeated. Opening a drawer, she seized a revolver, and, walking deliberately to the window, half opened it, and, speaking through the closed shutter, said in Italian accents—
“Who is there?”
A voice replied in muffled tones, “It is I—Hans; there is nothing to fear, Sophia.”
A slight pallor came over her face, but she placed back the revolver in the drawer, and, without replying, left the salon. On reaching the outside door she drew the bolts, and noiselessly opened the door. A tall man entered. Without the exchange of a single word, she led the way to the salon, then carefully closed the door. The man removed the felt hat which covered his head, displaying a bold, rough countenance. He was a man of athletic build, and very broad-shouldered, whilst a reddish beard covered the lower portion of his face.
Taking a seat, he cast a keen look at Sophia, and said—
“Who is with you, here?”
“Milona.”
“Where is Agostini?”
“In Paris. And where have you come from?”
“From Geneva. Lichtenbach sent me your address.”
“How did you enter?”
“Over the wall.”
“With your wounded arm?”
“My arm is healed.”
As he spoke he extended it with a threatening smile. The arm was indeed whole. A glove covered the hand. He continued—
“The Swiss are very fine mechanics. They have made for me a jointed fore-arm which works like a natural one. The hand is of steel. It is the best fisticuff imaginable. A blow from that hand, Sophia, would kill a man.” With a sigh he continued. “But, after all, this arm is not worth the one I have lost. Still, those who have mutilated me shall pay for my flesh and blood.”
As he spoke his face assumed a ferocious expression, andheground his teeth savagely. Sophia, in grave accents, replied—
“Have you not already been paid? At the time you were struck, the General de Trémont was dead. Perhaps it was he who was taking his vengeance on you!”
“The old fool! He had only to accede to your request when you were inducing him to tell you the secret of his safe. Then nothing would have happened!”
“Hans, it all happened because you were in too great a hurry. You destroyed all my combinations through your brutality. Had you merely given me another week the poor fool would have given up to me his secret, his honour, and everything else. Your intervention put him on his guard; he recovered from his torpor, and all was lost!”
“No reproaches, please. This mistake has cost me dearly enough. Now, how do matters stand here?”
“If you will leave me to act in my own way, I shall succeed.”
“Good! Good! I, too, am preparing a slight diversion, which will be of use. Besides, it will please Lichtenbach.”
“What do you intend to do?”
“Stir up the workmen at the manufactory.”
“Then you intend to make a tool of socialism?”
“Certainly. In it lies the future of society. The thoughtless, brutal mob,under the sway of a few bold leaders, will obtain for themselves universal dominion and rule.”
“How long will this be your rule of conduct?”
“Until everything in this execrably rotten society is destroyed.”
“What will you put in its place?”
“That is the secret of time. The revolution will tell it to us.”
“I hate your opinions as well as those who maintain them.”
“I know, I know,” interrupted Hans, with a loud laugh. “You are an aristocrat, Sophia, and equality is not to your liking. You must have luxury and superiority always around you. But how do you know that we shall not give them to you? We aim at levelling, but it is the levelling of those who rise above us. Have you ever seen a flock of sheep without a shepherd and his dog to guide them? Then how could nations live without a head? The great thing is to command. For this power must be snatched from the hands of those who now have it, by means of certain privileges we pretend to suppress because we do not enjoy them. Once power is in our hands, torrents of blood will have to be shed before it can be taken from us. Who would try to do so? Only revolutionists have any energy left, for they alone are governed by passion. Revolution is the only means of succeeding rapidly. To-dayI am nothing; in the near future I intend to be everything. To attain to my object I suppress everything in my way. This is the meaning, expressed briefly, of all the burlesque rigmarole uttered by these apostles of humanity. Their love and thoughts are entirely for themselves. And that suffices.”
Sophia laughed aloud.
“They are mere brigands. You are another, but you must take care, Hans, for those you dream of spoiling will not let themselves be robbed so easily as you think. They have invented the police, a tolerably effective safeguard. But what are you preparing for these poor Baradiers and Graffs?”
“For the past fortnight I have been exciting the workmen by means of my agents. I am going to turn their works upside down. That will divert their attention, for they are far too wide awake concerning what we are doing. I do not know who is informing the sly rogues, but they seem to understand Lichtenbach’s game with the greatest ease.”
“Lichtenbach is such a coward! He has done something stupid again. I have sent Cesare to him, quite as much to keep a watch over him as to pay court to his daughter. But you cannot put courage into the heart of a coward.”
“It seems the shares of the Explosives Company had fallen so favourably, thanks to the bear system undertaken by Lichtenbach, that the re-purchase was on the point of being effected under the most favourable conditions. Suddenly, without apparent reason, the brokers began to buy in enormous quantities on the Stock Exchange, and the shares rose by leaps and bounds. Lichtenbach held firm, but he had to deal with some one superior to himself. The threatening ruin was checked. He, personally, has lost apile of money at the liquidation. And, from information received, it is the Baradiers and Graffs who have formed a syndicate, along with a large number of shareholders belonging to the threatened Company, with the object of checking the too complete depreciation of the shares. There is a rumour in business circles that, thanks to a new patent, you understand, Sophia, the prosperity of the affair is assured for the future. That is why I am here; direct competition against Lichtenbach means a challenge to us. The war has begun; it must be maintained, and the victory won. You all appear to me to be doing nothing but play here.”
“Now, Hans, nothing rash this time,” said Sophia, firmly. “We are going along very well; take care not to spoil everything again. You have only one arm left to lose, my dear friend. Do not attempt too much.”
Hans’ features contracted.
“You are in a very gay humour, Sophia. I have only one arm, true; but it is the better one of the two, make no mistake. Little chance for him who comes within its reach!”
“So you have come to settle down here?”
“With your permission.”
“You will be greatly in my way.”
“Do not be anxious. I shall only be out-of-doors at night time. It is not to my interest to be seen in the open daylight. Darkness suits me better. You attend to your business, and I will attend to mine. All I ask of you is a room up in the garret, where I may write and sleep during the daytime. Milona alone will know that I am here. We can have entire confidence in her.”
“Entire, unless there is harm threatening to myself.”
“Who would think of doing you any harm? Not I, at any rate, so long as we have the same end in view.”
They exchanged looks, and in their eyes could be readthe memory of long-standing complicity and collusion. Sophia was the first to avert her glance, which she did with a sign of acquiescence.
“Then follow me.”
She opened the door, and showed the way to the man who appeared to her an object of mingled dread and hate.
Baudoinhad just finished arranging everything in the summer-house where Marcel lived, when he heard his name called by the concierge of the works. On showing himself at the window, the concierge bowed with deference, and said—
“M. Baudoin, some one wishes to speak to you at the gate.”
“Good; I will be down in a moment.”
It was three o’clock in the afternoon, and, as Marcel had just set out in the direction of the woods, Baudoin was alone in the house. He had just placed the furniture in order, and now, after closing the window, he took off his apron, and went out into the courtyard. On reaching the entrance to the works, he saw standing in the street a ruddy-faced man, with untrimmed beard, dressed like a workman, and wearing a pair of large rough shoes. The concierge disdainfully pointed out the man, and said—
“There he is!”
At the same moment the man turned round, and, seeing Baudoin, came up with smiling face and extended hands. Baudoin, astonished, watched him draw near, ransacking his memory, but unable to call to mind if he had ever seen him before. He said to himself, “Who the deuce can it be? Some one who has made a mistake!” On coming close up to him, the man said—
“Good day, M. Baudoin.”
Then Baudoin recognized Laforêt. Taking him by the arm, he conducted him along the garden wall in the direction of the main road; then, sure that he would be out of the hearing of any one, he said—.
“So you are here at last! What a perfect disguise! I had no idea who you were till you spoke.”
“We must not remain in the open air, for no one must see us together. Is there no small inn where we can talk?”
“Certainly; come with me to the Soleil d’Or. I know the landlord; he will let us have a small room to ourselves, where we shall not be disturbed. He is an old soldier, and to be relied upon.”
“Very good!”
Seated before a bottle of beer, the two men began their confidential talk—
“It was quite time you came,” said Baudoin. “There is something new at last. M. Marcel’s solitude has been broken in upon by two strangers, who pass as brother and sister, jabber away in Italian, and who, from the very first week of their stay here, have found means of entering into friendly relations with my master.”
“What kind of a woman is she?”
“Ah, unless I am mistaken, she is a very cunning woman, like the one who called to see my poor General, and tricked him so cleverly.”
“And the man?”
“A foreigner. His first appearance. He calls himself a count, but he is probably a mere fortune-hunter. A handsome-looking fellow, though I have only seen him at a distance.”
“And the sister?”
“A splendid woman! Light-complexioned, with hairarranged in Madonna fashion. The most innocent, harmless-looking creature imaginable! In deep mourning, reminding one of ‘Mignon’ bewailing her country. What is her object in coming here just at this time?”
“We will do our best to throw some light on the matter if possible.”
“I can do nothing, you understand, for I am too well known here. At the very first sign of activity I gave, it would be equivalent to saying to these people, ‘Look out, I am watching you.’ They would be at once on their guard, and the game would be over! I have already hazarded a rather risky examination of the house in which they live, and the surroundings. But I cannot recommence without running the risk of being caught by M. Marcel; and, if he questioned me, what reply could I give him? To warn him of the toils being skilfully drawn around him would be to cut short the intrigue now in preparation, and which, in all probability, will give us an opportunity of laying hands on the villains we are on the look-out for. And not to warn him is to leave him exposed to the greatest dangers! I have been thinking of all this for some days, and the more I reflect, the more I hesitate. Accordingly I was very anxious to see you, as you can give me your advice in the first place, and afterwards we can deliberate as to the best means of defending M. Marcel in case he comes to be threatened.”
“We must proceed methodically. Where is this house situated?”
“Oh, it is very easy to recognize! It is half-way between Ars and the woods of Bossicant, and is named the Villa de la Cavée. Impossible to make a mistake, for it stands all alone.”
“To-morrow morning I will take up my post at the door.”
“How?”
“That is my business. You will see how it is possible to keep a watch over people without appearing to do so.”
“But there is no house for more than half a mile around.”
“That will make no difference. How does the lady live?”
“Very quietly. She never leaves the house, except to take a walk in the wood. Until lately, alone, or with her brother, but now with my master.”
“Then he is bitten?”
“Very badly.”
“Good!”
“And what, in your opinion, must we do as regards M. Marcel?”
“Nothing.”
“Not even warn him of his danger?”
“Under no pretext. What danger does he run? I will keep watch over him outside, and you will look after him inside. No one has any interest in threatening him. If, as is very probable, according to usual tactics, a pretty woman has been told off to try to catch him, all he risks is falling in love with a worthless creature. Will it be the first time this will happen to him? You do not think so, nor do I. Meanwhile, we will set a few caltrops to try and catch our freebooters. Are you sure it is not the same woman who came to Vanves?”
“She has neither the same voice nor the same accent. But then, can one be certain of anything when one has to deal with people of such cunning? As for the man, I can answer that it is not he, for I saw the man at Vanves. He was a head taller than this tom-tit of an Italian. His speech, too, was very peculiar. Oh! I should at once recognizethe man who killed my General! And if ever he comes within my reach—”
As he spoke his fists were tightly clenched, and a fierce glare shone in his eyes. Laforêt calmed him by saying—
“Do not get angry! Especially in the matter now engaging our attention; we must keep cool heads. Suppose you suddenly found yourself in front of this man, what would you do?”
“I would seize him by the throat, and he should not escape, that I would swear to before God!”
“What folly! Your duty would be to pretend not to recognize him. You could follow him, find out where he lives, and keep a watch over him, so that we might capture both himself and his accomplices. My dear Baudoin, let us agree at once to some such course beforehand. For if we act in too sentimental a fashion, we shall fail utterly.”
Baudoin sighed—
“You are right; still, it would be very hard for me to keep my fingers away from the rascal’s skin! But then, you have had experience; I will obey you.”
“Well, then, let us find some means of correspondence. For the future we must not be seen to have any communications with one another. See here; when I have anything to say to you I will go to the entrance door of the works, and write on the top of the gate on the left side the day and hour of the rendezvous in red pencil. For instance: ‘Tuesday, 4 o’clock.’ Then you will arrange to come round to this inn, where you will find me. If you wish to speak to me you will do the same on the other pillar on the right of the gate. I shall pass by every morning and evening to see if the rendezvous has to take place that evening or not.”
“Very good.”
“Then good-bye for the moment. When we leavehere we no longer know one another. I will go now, and leave you to pay. Good luck, and keep cool!”
“I will, if possible.”
At that very hour Marcel was walking to and fro in the woods with Madame Vignola. The small terrier was running about along the path, which was so narrow that the young man and his fair companion were brought into close proximity to avoid the shooting branches which invaded the way. A feeling of languor seemed to emanate from the earth, gently warmed by the early spring sun. On reaching the edge of the plateau they halted by a rocky ledge overshadowed by large ash-trees.
The whole valley of Ars lay before them. The tile roofs of the works, the large chimney-steeple with its plume of black smoke, and the church and houses capriciously grouped, formed a smiling and delightful picture. The young woman pointed out with the end of her parasol the different parts of the panorama, and Marcel named all the points of interest visible. It was a kind of taking possession of the country under the auspices of Marcel. He said to her, with a smile—
“You are asking questions, as though you intended to settle down in these parts.”
“It is a custom of mine,” she said. “I like to know where I am, and to make inquiries about the district. Things have no meaning or interest for me unless I know their names and purposes. For instance, you point out to me down there a railway line which passes into the plain. To the fact that it is a railway I am absolutely indifferent; you add, it is the line running from Troyes to the frontier,viâBelfort. Immediately my mind begins to work, and the precise representation given by the thing attaches my mind to the thing itself. As you see, I am of anything but a poetic nature.”
“You appear to me to have an extraordinary intelligence.”
“And one which is not of a very feminine nature, now confess.”
“True, I find you anything but silly or fickle in disposition. But I give you credit for a good quality.”
“In any case, confess that it is not a graceful one.”
“Oh! You have so many others!”
“I did not ask you for a compliment.”
“You must accept it now, all the same.”
She looked at him with an air of simple content, then shook her head.
“That is not right of you; you have broken our agreement. It was understood between us that you should treat me as a companion, in return for which I would allow you to accompany me in my walks, and call on me unceremoniously. But you are a Frenchman, and it is impossible for you to give up all pretensions to gallantry.”
“Would an Italian have stayed so long in your company without telling you how charming you are?”
“Yes, if I had forbidden him to speak of such things. But he would have thought the more!”
“How can you tell?” said Marcel, eagerly. “Do you think I am indifferent because, obeying you too well, I have addressed to you nothing but simple expressions of cold courtesy? Do not judge my feelings by my words; they are very different from one another.”
“You have only known me for a week.”
“Is a longer time needed to love for ever?”
“For ever! What an engagement to make! And so quickly decided on!”
“And so easy to keep when one first sees and afterwards comes to know you!”
“And which can have no result, as I must soon leave, and go away far from—”
“What need is there for you to follow out plans formed during the early days of sadness and solitude? Is it wise to decide for a whole lifetime in a single moment at your age, and with such a store of future compensations to draw upon? At the age of twenty-four to think that everything is lost, because destiny has separated you from a husband old enough to have been your father? Your life has only just begun, at the very time you think it is all over.”
“Yes, my brother has often said the same thing to me. That is the usual way of looking at things. New tenderness to replace a dying affection. But then, how wretched to lend one’s self to such social arrangements, and undergo such an unexpected fate! And yet a heart cannot be swept out like a room for new tenants. The memories of the one who occupied it cannot be so speedily effaced; they remain. And is it not a kind of profanation for a delicate soul to allow itself to cherish a new affection, when it imagined the light had vanished for ever?”
“I will reply in your own words: ‘For ever! What an engagement to make! And so lightly decided on!’ Can you be sure of keeping it? Let the world wag along. Your decision will not alter anything. There is nothing definite in this world, not even the sincerest grief.”
She stood there silent for some time with downcast eyes. Her companion admired the graceful curves of her supple form, and the youthful grace that appeared on the beautiful countenance. She seemed scarcely twenty years of age. Her cheeks had all the appearance of a tempting and savoury fruit, Finally she continued, with a sigh—
“If I listened to your protestations, what trouble should I be preparing for myself in the future? You are not dependent on yourself, as I am, for I have only a brother, though, after all, he is very indulgent towards me. Youhave a family which will claim you. When you leave this district where will you go?”
“I shall return to Paris, where I generally live. What prevents you taking up your abode there also? Your interests are in Italy? What then? Your brother will look after them, and you will have nothing to do but consider your own happiness.”
“Paris frightens me. That immense stir and commotion troubles me, and I imagine it would be impossible to live there in calm and quiet.”
“What a mistake you make! The excitement of Paris life is very deceptive; it is only the surface that is troubled. Its depths, as in those of the sea, are quiet and peaceful, and the storms on the surface never disturb them. In Paris itself are peaceful corners, filled with verdure, light, and flowers, where a happy and gentle life may be passed. We would find such a spot for you, chosen with tenderest care, and there you would learn to spend your time free from melancholy and feverish anxiety. Far from noise and distraction of every kind, within easy reach of the utmost refinements of taste and intellectual pleasures, you will find out the most precious thing in the world: a quiet home, embellished by a love at once sincere and tender.”
“That is a very seductive picture you have drawn, and you know how to present it in the best light. Is there a touch of the fairy about you? Are you in possession of an enchanter’s wand, to be able thus to dispose of the destiny of others? You summon up characters and scenes to suit your fancy. Were I to listen to you, would you be free to realize your programme? To me you appear to be building castles in the air. What would your parents and friends say of this arrangement?”
“Oh! they would accept it, there is not the slightest doubt of that. If you only knew how fond they are of me,and how joyfully they would welcome anything giving proof of moderation and wisdom on my part! My father, though rough to outward appearance, is the finest man in the world. He is anxious about my doings, only because of his affection for me, and his anxiety regarding my future welfare. He never gave the least sign of egoism, even when we quarrelled. His own pleasure and peace of mind, even, were subordinated to my interests. Only when he saw that some action of mine which he judged harmful—would injure me in some way, did his anger burst forth against me. He loves me so well that, were he certain my happiness might be assured under honourable conditions, he would sacrifice his own without the slightest hesitation. As for my mother, she is the very embodiment of virtue and goodness.”